


with the unloved kids

by Sour_Idealist



Category: Critical Role: Wildemount Campaign (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Prickly Assholes Caring About Each Other, Speculative Backstories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-20 06:08:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13711500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sour_Idealist/pseuds/Sour_Idealist
Summary: In Zadash, Beau gets some bad news. Molly isn't the right person to comfort her -- Molly doesn't even like her -- but he's the one who's there.





	with the unloved kids

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of Beau/Yasha. Warnings at the end, as they are spoilers.

Mollymauk found Beau in the shittiest bar in Zadash, as he had expected. She'd taken possession of a table in the corner, staring into a grimy tankard. Spiderwebs hung low and heavy from the rafters . There was still some beer left in her tankard; now _that_ was a surprise.

“So,” he said, dropping onto the other end of the bench beside her. “Hey there.”

“Fuck off,” she said, not looking up. Mollymauk sighed.

“Yeah, I know,” he said, “I wouldn't want to see me right now either. But I'm who you've got, and... listen.” He rubbed at one horn. “We're both assholes, you and I. And frankly, if I could get literally anyone else to do this, I would, but everyone else is locked up for the night, and I don't trust them to sneak through the wards.” Zadash's wards closed their gates at the stroke of midnight, and within each one you could move as you pleased, but you were stuck till dawn. The others were back at the Garden District; Molly was the only one who'd followed Beau when she vanished into the Wharves, and thus the only one who'd been in earshot when she stopped by a gaggle of gossipy pickpockets. (Untalented pickpockets.)

“Nott could get through,” Beau said. “Nott's sneaky.” She ran her finger along the table, looking at the grain the way Molly looked at his cards. Not when he had an audience, but the way he did when he was alone.

“Nott's not leaving Caleb's side until he's up and walking again,” Mollymauk said. Also, he couldn't get through the wards himself to fetch her, but he didn't see any reason to bring that up. “The point is, I know you don't like me, and you probably know that I don't like you. But I don't think you should be alone right now.”

“Doesn't matter,” Beau said.

“Yeah, unfortunately, it does,” Molly said, stretching out his legs on the tavern floor. The bench creaked underneath him.

“No one's after me.”

“Oh, I don't know if I'd put money on it,” Molly said, shrugging. “But that's not the point. If you want to get too drunk to stand, and frankly I won't blame you, someone needs to make sure you don't choke on your own spew. If you're tempted to do anything... stupid, not that you seem like the type, someone should be here to stop you. If you need someone to cry on – fuck me, I don't know, pretend I'm Fjord.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “I'd say Yasha, but I don't have the tits for it.”

Beau actually snorted a little, looking up from the table at last. “You don't have the muscle for it, either.”

“I know,” he said, “or the gentle personality.” Beau _didn't_ laugh at that, which was a point in her favor; Molly might need to stop calling Yasha a lunatic for looking back when Beau looked at her. “I can go a few rounds, though,” he offered. “You seem like you might need to hit something.”

Her laugh this time was a lot less encouraging. “You know, I usually would?” she said. “I mean, I've been _dying_ to punch you in the face. But right now I just... don't want to do anything.”

“Ahhh.” Mollymauk sighed, closing his eyes. “That one. Yeah, been there – for whatever that's worth. My advice is, just keep talking. In general.”

“That what happened to you?” she asked, eyeing him from under the sweaty hanks of her hair. “Something bad happen and you just stopped talking?”

“Kind of like that,” he said. He'd been furious, when he first realized the others knew; but the cat was out of the bag now, and there was no point in pretending. “Kind of like that. Once you stop, it's hard to start – but hey, why are we talking about me? This isn't about me. Are you drinking that beer? I can get you another beer.”

“It's really shitty beer,” she said. “And, I don't know... I used to get drunk to piss him off, like, all the time. Kind of can't figure out if I wanna do that now or not.”

“Mmm.” Molly tugged the tankard over. “Tell you what, you want a drink, I'll get you something a little bit better.” He slammed it. “Oh gods, that is shitty beer.”

“I warned you,” she said, as Molly waved to the bartender, gesturing for two. “Like, it might actually be the worst beer I've ever had.”

“Not that I've had,” Molly said, “but I'm only fairly sure that nobody pissed in it, so it's still down there.” He paused. “What've you eaten today, anything?”

“I'm not one of your circus kids, Mollymauk.”

“No, you're certainly not,” he said. The one barmaid came over, looking not at all impressed, but she didn't look like she was about to kick him and his horns out of the tavern either.

“Whatcha want?” she asked.

“You have any beer that isn't what she was drinking?” he asked.

“We got beer and wine.”

“All right, let's try the wine,” he said, shrugging. “Listen, do you have any kind of food here? Roasted river rat, fried dog, whatever?”

“We have sausages and some bread left,” she said. “You want a plate?”

“Please, gorgeous,” he said, handing her enough silver that she probably wouldn't spit in the food. “It's for her,” with a tilt of his head to Beau, “unless she's caused you any trouble, in which case it's for me.”

“Nah, she's been quiet,” the barmaid said. “Bread, sausages, bottle of wine.” She bustled back off, leaving Mollymauk alone with his least favorite companion, and with the acidic grief hanging over the table like a fog.

“You know you never really explained why you're like, bothering with me,” she said. “I was gonna come back in the morning. Hangover might be a bitch, but you know, I've had hangovers before. It'll be fine.”

“Yeah, see, that's the thing,” he said, “it won't. But, you know, go ahead and do whatever it is were going to do. I'm not going to stop you.”

“So what's even the point of you being here?” she demanded. “I don't want you here.”

“Lucky for you, I'm an asshole who doesn't care what you want,” he said; being deeply obnoxious was usually enough to get Beau to stop asking him questions. This time she only stared him down; usually her glare wasn't particularly impressive, not to someone used to Yasha, but tonight he found himself thinking of ice, and the coldest depths of a lake. He sighed, holding up his hands. “Okay. Okay, honest answer. I don't like you, but you're one of us. And I look after my own; it's what I do. The only reason I'm alive right now is that someone looked at me and said the freaks should stick together. So here I am, sticking with you.” He didn't make a habit of admitting that, but hell. Beau might as well have been naked right now. 

A cough came from behind them; the barmaid dropped a bottle of wine onto the table, followed by two rough wooden goblets. “Thank you, sweetheart,” Molly said, glancing up – she was already gone – and poured Beau a generous helping. She wasn't eyeing him any less suspiciously, but she took the drink when he pushed it over to her. Not that that necessarily said a lot.

“I'd guess,” he said, taking care to look at the wine he was pouring for himself, and not at all at Beau, “that this is going to be one of the shittier nights of your life. You know. One way or another. If I were you, I'd rather spend it knowing that someone gives enough of a damn about me to hang around for it. And like I said, I'm sure the others would be willing to do it, but we're the ones who decided to spend the night in the shady part of town. So here I am.”

“You're not me, though,” she said. “Just because you'd want that doesn't mean I do.”

“Yeah, but you still might need someone to pull you out of the gutter,” he said. “I know you said you wouldn't, but frankly I don't believe you. Anyway, I'm starting to like this bar. The wine is –” He actually took a sip from it. “Disgusting, again, but, you know, memorably.”

“It really is,” she said, and threw back her glass. “Hey, fill me back up.”

“Will do.” He did. Her fingers clutched white-knuckled on the stem of the glass. He bit his lip. “Look, just so you know. Whatever you say to me tonight, whatever you do – I won't tell anyone, and I won't bring it up again. It'll be like it never happened. Deal?”

“I just...” Her voice broke. She took another gulp of wine. “It's not like I didn't know he was an asshole, you know? He had it coming. If you'd asked me about it, I would've said I was rooting for whoever took him out. But –” A sob caught in the back of her throat. “He was my _dad._ He was a shitty dad, but he was... he was the only one I got, you know? And now he's never going to – it's not like he was going to wake up one day and be someone I'd, you know, be proud of, but –”

“Did he love you?” Mollymauk asked.

“Fuck, I don't know.” Beau rubbed at her eyes. “I – yeah, I think he did, probably, once. I –” She drew in a long and ragged breath. “I used to love him. You know. When I was a kid.”

“Yeah.” Mollymauk blew out a long, slow breath and, risking at least testicle and limb if not his life, draped his arm over Beau's shoulders. “Like I said. Go ahead, pretend I'm Fjord. I can try and do the voice, like this –” He absolutely couldn't, but he gave it his best shot. She laughed a little, the kind that could be crying in a second. She didn't pull away from him.

“Beau,” he said, because there was one important thing here that someone needed to say. Gods, he hated having a sense of responsibility. “I'm sorry about your father.”

She broke down crying in his arms.

It was all very wet and awful. He pulled her close against his shoulder and let her get snot all over his robe. That was no small sacrifice, frankly, and cleaning it would take forever, but the sobs were tearing through her like convulsions, like she was going to shake apart. He rubbed at the rough buzz of her hair and kept his mouth shut and let her cry. The barmaid brought the plate at one point; he mouthed 'leave it' over Beau's shoulder, pointing to the table, and the barmaid left without a word.

Finally Beau drew back, wiping at her eyes. Fjord or Jester might have had a handkerchief – all right, no, Jester absolutely wouldn't have – the point was, Molly didn't, so he just pretended he couldn't see her using the edge of her sash.

“Don't tell anyone,” Beau said. “I really will kill you.”

“Ah for fuck's sake,” Molly said, rolling his eyes. “I keep my word. Eat your sausages.”

She did. They drank their way through another couple bottles of wine. When the morning came, they walked together back through the wards. At the doorway to the inn, she paused.

“Listen,” she said. “Uh. You know. Thanks.”

“Don't mention it,” he said. “No, really. Don't.”

And that was all.

**Author's Note:**

> Death of an abusive/negligent parent, specifically, Beau's father.


End file.
